


Things Needful

by kelly_chambliss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Character, Gen, Mental Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelly_chambliss/pseuds/kelly_chambliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wizarding war is coming.  Preparation is all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Needful

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to my excellent beta, [](http://miss-morland.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://miss-morland.livejournal.com/)**miss_morland** , who totally saved this story.
> 
> Written for HP Darkfest, 2012. The prompt for this story was an image; a copy of it is embedded in the fic.

=====

The first time Albus tries the Imperius curse on Minerva, the spell washes harmlessly over her: there's not a flicker of change in her expression, not a hair dislodged from her ever-present prim black bun.

She has resisted him automatically, without even realising that he's made the attempt.

This strength of mind is one of the things that makes Minerva so interestingly powerful as a witch -- and so often annoyingly stubborn as a woman.

It's also one of the reasons he chooses her for his experiments: she is perhaps the most able witch he knows. If he can Imperius someone of her magical calibre, he will have no trouble with whatever hapless Muggles and desperate wizards cross his path in the looming war.

That a full war is inevitable now, he has no doubt. Only fools will deny it, and Albus is no fool.

He would have preferred a bloodless settlement, with both the so-called "purebloods" and the Muggle-borns coming to a reasoned understanding that _all_ magical people, whatever their background, have an equal and rightful place in the wizarding world.

But knowing human nature as he does, Albus is not surprised that such an intelligent resolution has proved impossible and that the situation has reached the crisis stage. Too many people want the security or the riches or the power that they mistakenly believe Tom Riddle offers them, and so the "Dark Lord" has become far too strong.

Not since the days of Grindelwald has wizardkind faced such a crossroads, but face it they must.

Well, so be it. Perhaps it is for the best. Philosophical blood battles have riven their world since the days of the Founders; maybe fighting literal blood battles will allow the truth to be established once for all.

Some of the fighting has already begun, and Albus knows that even worse is yet to come.

When it does, he will be ready.

He will fight the Darkness with whatever tactics he needs, and though he wishes these tactics did not include the Unforgivable Curses, he knows better. The combatants on both sides will give no quarter: how can they, when nothing less than the future of wizarding civilization is at stake? Both sides surely understand that there will be no victory without the Unforgivables.

And so Albus's only choice is ensure that he has no equal in casting them.

=====

Necessary the Curses might be, but Albus does not find it easy to break the taboo of decades in using them. His initial attempts are weak, but he perseveres, practicing whenever he can.

He tries the Imperius a second time when he comes across Minerva unexpectedly in Diagon Alley.

She does not see him, and so it is easy for him to fade into invisibility (few, if any, can equal his skill with Disillusionment spells) and whisper " _Imperio!_ " as she passes.

He is prepared, this time, for her mental toughness, and he adds the lightest touch of Legilimency to his magic. Not too much, for she will detect too direct an intrusion, but enough to let him sense any lapse in her attention.

Ah. . .there it is: she is not completely focused on her surroundings. She has let her mind wander to Hogwarts: some problem with staff schedules, of no interest to him; day-to-day personnel issues belong to the Deputy. Albus cares only for the breach in her defences, and as soon as he finds it, he acts.

Many lesser wizards make the mistake of assuming that the Imperius Curse needs to be a thing of force and violence. It does not. It can be delicate and soft, as subtle as the faintest wisp of smoke, as sinuous as a cat.

He slides the Curse gently through the gap in Minerva's concentration.

Her step falters briefly, so briefly that had he not been watching her closely, he might not have noticed.

But he does notice, and he knows what that misstep means: his Imperius has succeeded.

Minerva McGonagall is his to command.

He feels only a small surge of satisfaction, for one should not take too much pride in skill with Unforgivables. Then, too, he has never doubted that he would master her eventually. Even had his magical gifts been less (though he can say with simple truth that they are without parallel), he would still have been the victor, for the Imperius Curse is not difficult in and of itself. It requires only nerve, courage, and the strength to go to those places that weaker people fear.

Such fears rarely plague Albus now; over the years, he has trained himself to go wherever need and honour take him, however tortuous the path may be.

He keeps invisible pace with Minerva for another few strides before whispering, "Go to Fortescue's."

She pauses, then turns. But before she can step into the road, a voice calls out to her. It is a woman, someone Albus does not know. She and Minerva meet, smile, chat, and just when he begins to think that he might have failed after all, the woman takes Minerva's arm, and they both cross the cobbles to enter Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.

The Curse has worked.

Albus takes a breath and continues down the Alley.

=====

Albus Dumbledore is a patient man, though that virtue has come to him only slowly, the work of years. In his youth, he was impetuous, a flaw for which he and his family paid dearly. But by now, he has long realised that nothing worth having can be gained quickly.

Patience and perseverance -- these, along with his formidable mind and his ability to do the thing needful -- are the secrets of his success. They will sustain him well in this war, he knows. And he is wise enough, too, not to ignore the importance of hard work: he will never be one to neglect the careful planning and the endless practice that victory will require.

He continues to polish his Unforgivables, all three of them, though so far he has been able to limit the Cruciatus and Avada Kedavra to animals.

The Imperius he reserves for Minerva.

His decision to use her as his test subject has cost him quite a few sleepless nights. There are many people -- good people -- who would not accept his action; they would see it as an unimaginable breach of trust.

They are wrong, but he can see their point. The choice to experiment would have been difficult no matter who the subject, but Minerva is someone he has known and liked for decades; she was his student, and now she is his steady supporter, loyal and reliable. How can he do such a thing to her? people might ask.

Here is where such people show their limitations. Well-meaning they might be, but they do not understand. They do not understand how much their world depends on him, on his ability to out-think and out-duel his enemies. . . _their_ enemies. They do not understand that a man in his position cannot afford the luxury of a conscience that would let him refuse to do what is needful. They do not understand that when someone of Albus Dumbledore's stature and abilities crosses a moral line, it is not the same as when an ordinary person does so.

Albus has his lines, of course he does, but they are drawn much further afield than most people's lines. He has learnt, through bitter experience, how to control his worst impulses. He can take risks that. . .well, he hesitates to say "lesser people," for of course no person is of less value than another, but. . .people of fewer gifts. He can take risks that people of fewer gifts cannot handle.

The taboo against Unforgivables is generally a good one. But it does not -- cannot -- apply to him. Not at such a time.

Minerva, he is certain, would say the same thing. He has no doubt that if she knew what he was doing, she would not only understand, but approve. She would probably even volunteer to be his subject. She is brave; she is an Order member; she knows what they are up against, knows that his actions will be for her own benefit in the long run.

The future of her world -- of everyone's world, magical and Muggle both -- depends upon his tests; this point is one that cannot be made often enough. There is no progression of knowledge if one is too timid to pursue a research project to its logical end, and Minerva, as a scientist, knows this truth better than most.

She would also understand that he cannot be master of the Curse if he restricts himself to the innocuous: one does not win wars by sending one's opponents to ice cream parlours.

It is time to increase the stakes.

=====

He summons her to a meadow near Hogwarts. It is high summer, when few people are about, but nonetheless, he casts impenetrable wards about the place. They must not be disturbed.

For the first time since she's been Imperiused, Minerva seems wary.

"Why have you asked me here?" she says, frowning. He notices, in the sunlight, that lines are beginning to etch themselves into her face.

"I want you to do something for me," he replies. Something not in her character, something that in ordinary circumstances she would refuse. But not something that will harm her. He has given the matter some thought and has decided what will be best.

"I want you to take off your robes, Minerva."

Her eyes cloud, and her frown deepens.

"Why?"

"Because I have told you to." He speaks calmly, though he finds himself a trifle unsettled. He had not expected her to challenge him at this early stage.

Still, he knows he must take the situation as he finds it, not as he wishes it to be. Nor is he a man to be flustered by a small setback, particularly not when eventual victory is assured. In any event, finding a way to counteract Minerva's resistance will be a useful exercise.

He sends a pulse of mental energy towards her, intensifying their Imperius bond; he can see the magic flow into her in a faint but shimmering reddish wave.

After a moment, her eyes drop, and he feels her will lessen until he can almost touch what is left, like soft clay to be shaped in his hands.

"Take off your robes," he says again.

This time, she does not hesitate, but unfastens her light summer gown and lets it drop to reveal the thin undershift without which no witch of her generation would feel decent. Through it, he can see the outline of white pants and a Muggle-style brassiere. This last surprises him; he would have expected her to wear something more traditionally witch-like -- a chemise, or even a corset.

"Now the shift," he tells her, and soon it, too, is in a heap on the ground.

"Your hair. Let it down."

He anticipates some sort of elaborate ritual of removing hairpins one by one, but she surprises him yet again: she simply shakes her head to dislodge whatever magic normally holds her bun in place, and her hair falls long over her shoulders.

Even when he orders her to remove her underthings, she betrays no unease, though she does not look at him as she reaches behind her back to unhook the brassiere. Her gestures are spare and efficient, just as they are when she's demonstrating matchstick transfiguration in her classroom.

Finally, she stands naked before him.

Albus takes his time in studying her. Her frame is thin, almost angular, her breasts well-formed but not large, her stomach still nearly flat, though she is almost fifty. Her pubic hair is a small, neat triangle, as if even in its most wanton, secret places, her body refuses to be other than prim and controlled.

Her arms hang loosely at her sides, and he might almost think her unembarrassed by her nudity were it not for the way her head drops forward, so that the long black hair partially obscures her face and almost covers her breasts.

"Minerva," he says, and she shifts her weight slightly.

But she will not meet his eyes.

On some deep level, then, she continues to resist, and he allows himself a flash of appreciation for her strength. She is not his magical or mental equal, of course, but she is a worthy challenge, and he is glad that she is on his side.

As he looks at her, he thinks that here is a perfect example of the difference between himself and Tom Riddle and the Death Eaters. Such men would take advantage of a situation like this, where an Imperius Curse had put a woman in their power. They would order her to lie down, to spread her legs, to open herself to them.

He could do the same; it would be a testament to the strength of his Curse, for Minerva would not yield easily. Although Albus knows little about her actual sexual experience, he does know _her_ \-- knows that she is fiercely private, restrained, wary of personal indulgence. She is someone for whom sex is a matter of love and commitment.

Yet none of that would matter. He has mastered her mind, and he could easily master her body, too. He could take her here in the sweet-smelling grass, and in the end, she would not refuse him.

But unlike Riddle's band of greedy, lawless ideologues, Albus would never consider such a thing. Even if the very idea of forcing someone into sex wasn't repugnant and wrong, even if he didn't care about Minerva's own well-being, there are strategic and personal issues to weigh, issues to which Tom and his self-indulgent flunkies rashly pay no attention.

Albus does not, of course, desire Minerva sexually, but the question of whether to rape her is not about sex. There are strategic implications, matters of mastery and dominance. Yet even if he cared only about these, it still would not make sense to violate her -- he already knows that she would not resist him, so nothing would be gained from actual intercourse.

Then there are the personal reasons that such an act would be foolish. It will be to Riddle's and the Death Eaters' detriment that they do not recognise the fact that the Imperius Curse is not about pleasure. It is a necessary tool, nothing more. Using it for personal indulgence is dangerous. Albus will use it -- in carefully-defined and necessary circumstances -- to master others, but he will not allow it to master him.

To the extent that the Curse is "Dark," it is for this reason: not because it allows control of someone else (for when one is honest, one admits that all relationships are based on power and control, one way or another) -- but because the addictive allure of the Imperius threatens one's control of oneself.

And Albus is no longer a man who loses control of himself. He'd learnt that lesson long ago, when he stood in a curse-shattered room and stared down at the corpse of the little girl he'd been supposed to protect.

So there is no question but that he will leave Minerva untouched -- for her sake and for his own.

She remains standing silently before him, her head still bent, her hair lifting almost imperceptibly in the breeze.

"Put on your clothes," he says. "You will remember nothing of this meeting."

He watches as she bends to retrieve her shift. _I know you would not object, Minerva,_ he tells her in his mind. _You'd understand. It's wartime. We must do the things needful._

=====

Summer nears its end, and he is pleased with his progress, with his preparations for war.

His experiments with Minerva have made him confident of his ability to control subjects generally and to compel them to actions that they find personally difficult.

Now only one test remains: to find the extent to which he can make people do things they consider harmful or wrong. He must be able to command his enemies to work against their most deeply-held beliefs, and unless he has this skill, the Imperius will be useless to him.

His next step, then, will be to order Minerva to do something -- anything, it hardly matters what -- that goes against all her principles. To this act, too, he is certain she would agree if he could ask her. Like himself, Minerva is willing to make sacrifices for the cause. She'd make the ultimate sacrifice, if necessary: she would give her life. He knows she would consent to this lesser thing as well.

He makes his plans.

Minerva is on a well-deserved holiday when he summons her. He is sorry to break into it, but time is short, and he does not doubt that she will come to him at once.

She does. At the appointed time, he hears her brisk step outside; his door opens, and there she is, smiling.

For a vivid moment, Albus sees her not as she is now, in her high-necked green robe, but [as she looked then, standing naked and pale in the summer sun.](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/darkfest_mod/15539352/20567/original.jpg)

He wills away the image and smiles back at her.

"You wished to see me, Albus?" she asks.

"Yes, my dear," Albus answers, raising his wand surreptitiously beneath his desk. "There is something I would like you to do."

~~end


End file.
